Lipstick kisses
by ghoulina
Summary: Rick just wants to feel elegant...
1. Chapter 1

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own the young ones or any of the characters mentioned within this fic, I've merely borrowed them for a bit :)**

_Ok so I think I should explain this a bit, I kinda noticed the character Rick had some rather effeminate manerisms __and then theres the whole matter of the dress in 'NASTY' and I just wanted to explore that side of him a little and where/ why he would get the notion to wear that dress in the first place as it seemed a slight curve ball in the episode and series_. _this is only the first installment, there will be more, I apologise in advance if any of it seems out of character..._

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This wasn't normal surely, slim fingers smoothed over slightly rough fabric, pausing a moment and tracing the gingham pattern Rick pondered his actions…he knew this wasn't right. Boys didn't wear dresses, and if for some reason they did they certainly didn't enjoy it as much as he was…

A stir in his groin caused colour to flush to his cheeks despite the fact he was completely alone, locked in his room, only his few wall posters bearing witness to his shameful pleasures…Out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of his Lenin poster pined to the back of his door and felt shame heat his cheeks once more and hurriedly looked away, fingers still lingering around his waist idly stroking across the fabric in small motions still. The dress cut in tight around his middle and gave him the illusion of having a cinched waist, the A-line the skirt of the dress fell in giving his slight frame the illusion of curvaceous hips. Slipping his eyes shut he tried to imagine how his figure must look, his waist would appear much smaller, hips and even perhaps the impression of a slight (probably unimpressive) bosom.

Rick wished he still had his full length mirror so he could actually see the transformation the dress had performed upon his wiry body, his fingers slipped from his waist down across his hips, only lightly not wanting to ruin the effect the dress was making and keep his curvy body for as long as possible. His blue eyes fluttered open and stared into the empty mirror framing, only a few shards still clinging into the bottom of the frame, desperately trying to stay in place Rick remembered Vyvyan slamming his doc martins into the glass and laughing as it shattered and fell to the floor in an almost musical crescendo. Stupid punk.

Swinging his hips slightly he watched the fabric billow and shift with his body's movements, loving the way it wrapped slightly around his freshly shaven legs (He had figured if he was going to do this he may as well do it properly. He'd even bought stockings but hadn't quite gotten up the courage to put them on yet.) He bent slightly as his fingers slipped from the skirt of the dress onto the now smooth skin of his legs, he had to use his safety razor to shave his legs, he hadn't wanted the others to get suspicious of a spare razor hanging around the bathroom, let alone a ladies one. It had amazed him how fiddly it had been trying to shave around the back of his calf, he was pretty sure he'd nicked the back of his knee but wasn't overly fussed. He'd hardly felt the sting of the blade breaking his skin, his adrenaline had already been pumping through his veins as he'd sat in the bathtub apprehension and exhilaration that after all this time planning this he was finally going to do it.

The smooth skin was a foreign sensation to him; almost erotic…A small hitched breath escaped his lips as he slid his hands up under the dress and up his hairless thighs, eyes sliding shut once more. He'd told himself he was only doing this to get inside a girls mind…he tried to tell himself he was imagining a woman's thighs in his hands, not his own. He certainly wasn't imagining his hand's where someone else's, someone with large palms and strong arms that could lift him off his feet as easily as a parent would lift a child. Someone with stiff gelled hair and grungy denim clad thighs and chest….

Rick snatched his hands away from his thighs and forced his eyes open, dispelling those thoughts, they were unhealthy and unproductive…no matter how tempting the fantasy. Ricks body trembled slightly as his heat settles in the pit of his stomach, heat that had flared like a fanned fire at his previous thoughts, his teeth bit viciously into his lower lip, hard enough to draw blood if he applied himself to the task. Rick glanced down at himself once more; the previously pleasurable image now left a bitter almost acrid taste in his mouth, the pinched waist and pretence of breasts and figure looking comical now. His hands shook as they fumbled for the zip at his back, his heart beat heavily in his chest as the previous arousal flagged and waned.

"For Cliff's sake!" The zip tab continuously eluded his trembling digits as they grabbed for the small metal rectangle, his entire body now heating and trembling with embarrassment and panic until his sweaty fingers finally closed around the smooth coated metal tab and tugged. The reassuring sharp sound of the zip sliding down its track, the feel of the dress slipping from his shoulders, allowing his chest to expand in a full breath and shoulders drop into their natural slope rather than the tight posture the dress had forced them into was a shallow relief to Rick. He stepped out of the dress as it pooled around his feet, now standing completely undressed he gingerly picked up the delicate item of clothing and placed it onto a hanger, re-zipping the back, absent-mindedly admiring the way the fabric fell before placing it inside his otherwise empty wardrobe.

The dress settled in its place and hung elegantly from the rail, reminding Rick of the memory that had started this entire ordeal in the first place…

_Rick had always admired his mother's vanity table and its contents, as a child he would often sit upon the bed and watch as she carefully transformed herself, styling and combing her hair before delicately applying the exact art that was her make-up. He could still remember like it was yesterday, the smell of the powders, the sound of the spritzer spraying the perfume into the air, Roses and honeysuckle. The scent was still comforting to this day. After she had applied the fine layer of mascara her manicured hands would reach for the mother of pearl inlaid box that always sat before the mirror of the vanity, the small golden key always found on a fine chain around his mother's neck. The jewellery box was a family heirloom, it had been his grandmothers before his mothers, and her mother's before her and so and so forth. He didn't know exactly how old it was only that he wasn't allowed to touch it as a child, his parents worried he would damage the box. The silken lining would shine in the sunlight, a rich teal with golden stitching; a single tier would lift to reveal a hidden lower, wider tray within which his mother kept her boxed jewellery, the items too valuable to be worn every day. Rick loved that box, not because it was valuable or because the contents where but because it was so elegant, so effeminate, so beyond his own reach. _

_He used to sneak up to his parents room when he was left alone in the house (which was far more often that he would have ever cared to admit), as quietly as he possibly could, unable to shake the fear of being caught despite knowing he was alone, he would jump the squeaky step on the second landing and tiptoe across the dense carpeting that muffled his light footfalls. Once he was inside his parents' bedroom his feet always made a bee-line for the vanity, the pale varnished wood and matching stool seemed to call to him, tempt him closer and closer until he was sat in his mother's seat, staring into the vanity mirror at his own face, his mother's cosmetics spread out across the surface before him, that smell of powder and perfume so strong and comforting, it was like it wrapped around him cradling him and telling him that this was ok, it was perfectly natural for him to be curious…_

_As a child he was extraordinarily cautious about touching the cosmetics, he never put them on but he liked to look, liked to pull the tops from the lipsticks and look at the colours, ranging from deep red all the way down to a soft peach, always being careful to put them back in the same place he found them. He would do the same with the powders, unscrew the lids and inhale the soft scent, run his fingers over the brushes and look at himself in the mirror and imagine…_

_He carried on this way all throughout his childhood watching his mother apply her make-up, admire her elegance until his early teens he stopped watching his mother's morning routine, but still snuck into the room when alone, sitting still at the vanity and simply pretending. It was the new lipstick that was the turning point, the soft pink/ lilac one that his mother bought three of because she liked the shade so much (it highlighted her eyes she said). The tube was a brassy colour; he could still remember, it reflected his own face back at him 'Clair De Lune' the name was engraved along the lipstick tube in an elegant script._

_Despite his sweaty fingers and shaking hands he'd popped the top and gently twisted the base, the lipstick emerging, only just enough, his eyes flitted back to his pale face in the mirror, and lifted his trembling hand to his lips. He couldn't remember when admiring the make-up and simply enjoying observing the process had changed to a desire to experience it himself, teenage hormones or discomfort with his own appearance could have been only two of the possible reasons he had finally taken the step but for whatever reason Rick found himself, on that November evening gingerly slicking a thin layer of lipstick over his lower lip._

_He felt like he was colouring, trying to stay within the lines like the picture books his parents would buy him as a child as he applied the lipstick. He couldn't do it nearly as well as his mother, but he hadn't really expected to be able to, the edges where slightly rough but for a first time he felt he'd done rather well. Pressing his lips together like he'd seen his mother do he admired the rather radical effect the lipstick had upon his features_

"_Wow…" He breathed softly, blinking, eyes almost Bambi wide as he looked at himself in the mirror, it was strange, he could feel the lipstick coating his lips as if he'd brushed paint onto them, however as opposed to paint that would dry out the lipstick remained slick. He rubbed his fingers against his cheeks, bringing blood to the surface and creating the effect of a blush, his painted lips tugged upwards in a timid smile. "It really does bring out my eyes…." His complexion was far paler than his mothers, but they shared their eyes and the soft pallor of the lipstick really did bring out the different tones in his eyes, and, with a slight surge of vanity, he noticed that the colour looked better against his pale skin than it did his mother's lightly tanned complexion. The timid smile broke into a bright grin. For the first time in his life Rick felt elegant. _

Rick slid between his bed sheets, the cool cotton refreshing against his heated skin, and pushed one hand beneath his pillow, fingers searching out and closing around a cool tube he had kept with him, keeping hidden and safe, knowing that if it was discovered everything he had built for himself would crash and burn around him. Rick pulled the brass coloured lipstick tube from beneath his pillowcase, the engraved cursive '_Clare De Lune'_ shone back at him as he stared at the now empty cosmetic tube. He'd stolen one of his mother's spare tubes, she'd never even noticed it had gone missing She went off the shade a few weeks after Rick had taken the tube and she no longer wore it. Rick had though; he'd worn the lipstick in his room of a night at home, washing it off before going to bed. He'd never dared wear it at the house, Vyvyan far too prone to breaking down his door at random hours for Rick to feel safe wearing it for any amount of time while he shared this house, instead he would run the cosmetic across the back of his hand, enjoying the feel of the lipstick on his skin, remembering the way it had made his eyes brighten and changed his face.

Rubbing his thumb along the smooth metal rick lay his head against his thin pillow, closing his eyes and remembering the texture of the paint on his lips, the slickness, the smoothness, the elegance.


	2. Chapter 2

_This was far more difficult than his mother made it seem Rick thought to himself as his skinny arms wind milled at his sides, knees bending as he tried to find his centre of gravity balanced precariously on the shoes he had taken from his mother's wardrobe. His tiny toes curled against the smooth inner soles in an attempt to stop his feet slipping any deeper into the shoes, he had deliberately only taken a pair of his mother's casual shoes, the heels small and seeming far more manageable than her function shoes (those heels looked like they could be used as weapons!) thinking he would be able to handle those…_

_Without properly lifting his feet he shuffled across the short distance to his mother's vanity, the heels shifting around his small feet as he tried in vain to be quite, but heels alas where not made for discretion the young boy was quickly learning. _

_Click, clack, thwack. _

_The boy stumbled as he lost his footing, hands flying out and grabbing onto the padded vanity stool, he was beginning to wonder if this was really worth all the trouble…_

_He glanced down at the cream and dark brown stiletto's, he'd picked a pair he hadn't seen his mother wearing for a while (and if they were this difficult to walk in the young boy could sympathize with why they had been shoved to the far wall of the shoe rack) just in case he kept telling himself. Every creak of the house made him start and his wide light blue eyes dart around the room, straining his ears for sounds of his parents return, his heart was beating faster than he had ever known it to in his young life, fear and a strange excitement where bubbling in the young teens gut. _

_Lifting his foot, fingers still clinging onto the stool for balance, he tried to actually step rather than shuffle, the movement reflected in the full length mirror attached to his parents wardrobe door and catching his eye causing him to still in his movements, his leg lifted his toes curled tight in the shoes to keep it on his foot Rick could almost see what all the fuss was about…_

_His skinny calves where being shaped by the shoes causing a slight feminine curve to his leg like what the girls in his father's 'secret' magazines had. Rick smiled and twisted his body slightly so as to see the effect of the heels better, the same feeling he'd felt at the first slick of lipstick stirring within, that feeling of __**finally**__. Of elegance that seemed like it should have always belonged…_

_A horrible cracking sound caused him to jolt upright, as the sensation of the floor giving way beneath him caused his precarious balance to finally leave him altogether and he tumbled rather inelegantly (and painfully) to the carpet.. _

_He never told anybody exactly how he broke his ankle, and thanked the lord that his mother never noticed the missing shoes…_

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This was the natural progression really, wasn't it? Rick pondered and ran the silken material of the stockings between his fingers, in slight awe of the sleek texture as it ran easily against his skin. It was possibly the most exquisite sensation he had ever felt against his own skin, he had felt dirty buying them, his head ducked low and sunglasses pressed against the bridge of his nose, but now he simply felt that same kind of heat starting to simmer in his gut that he was fast becoming familiar with.

He hadn't entirely unrolled the pair yet, just a little, enough to touch and feel. to experience and imagine what how it was going to feel, that satin material sliding against his calfs and up, up to encase his thighs. A shiver ran down his spine like icy fingers trailing his skin beneath his shirt. God he wanted this...he wanted it and yet...

Rick dropped the stockings into his lap, the roll of material dropping against his bare skin, causing a small jolt at the foreign sensation, the smoothness against that sensitive area of his body, but he brushed it aside as fast as it came he forgot it, burying his fingers deep into the unruly hair at the crown of his skull.

This was so wrong. Rick knew this, he'd always known this was wrong, this desire that he harboured, but he couldn't fight it. He had tried to tell himself so many times it was innocent curiosity...but was it? was that really all there was to it? exhaling heavily he glanced down to the stockings laying in his lap, did he really care? Yes. He supposed to, he must on some level or he wouldn't feel how he did. Did it bother him enough to stop, to throw the dress and the stockings on the fire and drop the empty lipstick tube beneath his pillow in the trash? No.

He tugged lightly at the hair his fingers where tangled in before sliding them down the back of his skull, feeling thick, slightly tussled hair give way to the cropped buzz and his braids. The tips of his fingers danced over the buzz, enjoying the almost prickly sensation before tugging absent-mindedly at one of his braids, toying with the tied hair. Watery blue eyes moved around his bedroom, door locked once more, he pointedly avoided looking any of his posters in the eyes before his own came to rest on the closed wardrobe door, behind which he could almost envisage the elegant flow of the dress as it hung from the wire hanger. Another heavy exhale escaped him, why was this so difficult?

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Once again Rick slid between his bed sheets, the rough sheets rubbing against his still smooth legs (shaving them, he was ashamed to say, had become a habit now), the sensation not as shocking as it had been that first night but still enough of a thrill to send slight shocks along his skin, tingling like tiny electrical sparks. Settling into the worn mattress, springs creaking beneath his slight frame as he lay his weight against them purposefully ignoring the way the bed frame shifted with the motion, Rick was unsure what shame burnt hottest in his cheeks; the shame of what he knew he wanted, or the fact he wasn't even brave enough to bring himself to actually do it.

burrowing his face into the thin pillow he tried to stifle the heat in his cheeks that felt like it was spreading along his face to his neck and would surely engulf his ears if it wasn't halted. The pillow smelt like stale sweat and air as he buried his nose in the rough cotton, trying to extinguish the wildfire blazing across his face, mentally berating himself, who had he got to be embarrassed in front of? Himself? Cliff? Watery eyes darted to the aged and slightly torn poster that hung limply from the wall beside his bed, a number of staples pining it haphazardly to the wall from where Vyvyan had grown a little too excited with his staple gun (the afternoon had ended up with Rick trying to detach his hand from the kitchen table, four staples neatly embedded in the flesh joining him rather painfully to the wood beneath). Surely Cliff wouldn't want him to be ashamed, after all he was a man of the world was he not? Rick reasoned he must have experimented himself somewhere down the line...

Slim fingers slid beneath the pillowcase and touched against the cool brass canister beneath, the worn lipstick tube was fast becoming almost a form of comfort for the young man, index finger running the length of the stunted tube, feeling the engraving that rolled along the brass toned outer canister, simply the sensation of the small object against his skin calming to his nerves and mind.

So maybe he wasn't ready for the stockings yet. He could wait, they wouldn't go anywhere. A slight smile tugged at the corners of his lips as his eyes slid shut, lids suddenly feeling leaden and heavy beneath the weight of his mind. Maybe, maybe it didn't matter, after all every-one had their own strange little hobbies didn't they? The hippie had that stupid plant, Vyvyan had S.P.G, Mike had girls and Rick...well Rick had this...nothing wrong in that, it just meant no-one could ever find out.

Well, that was just fine. It was more a solitary hobby anyways. With his mind calm, weither from the effects of the cool tube against his skin or from pure exhaustion he was unsure, but either way sleep came easily for the first night in nearly a week, bringing with it lights and colours, sounds and sensations...things Rick would never even admit to himslef when he awoke the following morning...

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**Thanks to every-one who left feedback on the first part of this, I realise this part is quite bulky and a little disjointed but please bare with me, I've been having a bit of trouble writing this up. I hope that you enjoyed it anyhow, please feel free to leave feedback :)**


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